


breathe (lovely)

by Adenil



Series: 12 Days of Spones [10]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, M/M, Snow, Sunsets, beach, cocoa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: He remembers their second date most clearly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day 10: Memories

****He remembers their second date most clearly.

He had been young and foolish and the sky had been like fire. The hot orange baked his skin, curled warm in his blood, made him wish to sweat as each step carried them floundering down the long, white-sand beach. And he was tired and obstinate, still nursing his conviction that he did not need such things as shore leave.

To their right, the ocean lay rough and thunderous, waves hurrying up in staccato pattern to rush over Leonard’s bare feet as if they, too, desired to touch him. Leonard’s little toes curled into the sand and he smiled. Tipped his head up to the sky.

Said, “Isn’t it lovely, Spock?”

At that moment Spock could not agree. Agreement was too much like feeling. And the only thing lovely in his eyes was Leonard’s shining face. He turned away.

“It is adequate.”

They set up a blanket in the sand, and it was as if Spock looked down and then up, and there were people surrounding them on all sides. Pressing in. Leonard laughed at the sight, said, “So much for a romantic getaway,” and stripped to his trunks. Spock watched him, eyes piercing, as he waded into the water. It roared over him in punishing bursts and then he was beyond the waves, beyond Spock’s reach, and Spock longed for him.

He placed the basket which held their food and warmer clothes in the center of their blanket. A preemptive strike. He knew that Leonard would return, half-nude and damp, hair wild from the water and eyes wilder still. He knew that Leonard would stand before him, dripping, and wish to curl around him, kiss him, hands entangling together. He knew that Leonard would not care that anyone could be watching–but Spock cared very much. He felt this as he felt the memory, but this was merely the remembering of a future which had not come.

Spock read until the sun began to brush the horizon, just the edge of the pale flat disk. It wavered in the atmosphere just out of reach, hazy, gorgeous. The sight of it framed Leonard’s approach, casting his features in the shadow of preemptive night. Spock thinks, I am becoming more poetic in my old age.

Leonard sat, obediently, on the other half of the blanket. Sighed. Leaned back and folded long arms behind his head. Closed his eyes. Spock watched him surreptitiously, frowning at his gaunt frame, the space-paleness of his skin, the darkness beneath his eyes, the subtle pockmarks of xenopolycythemia cured too late to prevent the ravaging of his body. Leonard was beautiful, and looking at the stresses his body had endured hurt Spock so deeply that for a moment he could not breathe.

He breathes.

He prepared their dinner.

Leonard ate hastily, eyes trained on the horizon, brow furrowed to defend against the too-bright sunset. Spock ate steadily, eyes shifting from the blue of the sea to the blue of Leonard’s too-bright gaze. He wondered at the pull he felt when looking at Leonard, confused and unable to place the feeling. I’m in love, he thinks to himself.

The sky began to light, a kaleidoscope of orange and purple and yellow and red and white. The clouds parted beautifully and Spock heard Leonard gasp at the sight. The ocean calmed, turning a blue so deep it was nearly black, waves curling gently now against the stark white sand. Spock watched Leonard’s toes curl up in pleasure at the sight.

Leonard was smiling as he turned to him, catching Spock watching. The smile was tinged with pain–but not Leonard’s. Spock clings to that brief moment where their eyes meet, basking in the happiness radiating from Leonard as hot–or hotter–than the setting sun.

Leonard lifted his hand, a question mark in the shape of a kiss, and Spock pretended he had not seen.

Now the hurt was Leonard’s. Staring out over the ocean, Spock cursed himself for not returning the kiss; the sight of Leonard’s two fingers outstretched is burned into his memory, as is the slight slip of his smile, the downward angle of his eyes as he realized Spock will not kiss him in public. Spock curled his legs up to his chest, hands resting on his knees, and commented about the sunset’s chemical properties.

The banter they fell into was not easy, but it was familiar. Leonard lounged just out of reach and berated him for not enjoying so beautiful a sight. Spock sat small and lost and explained that natural phenomena were not there to be enjoyed. They were simply there.

The sun slipped behind the horizon.

Leonard began to shiver. Spock, highly tuned to him, removed the long pants and sweater from the basket. They got dressed in the waning light. The sea became a flat plane, utterly silent as the sky faded from royal blue into black. Stars popped into existence: first one, then another, then a few more, until they seemed to avalanche across the sky in alien configurations that were, nonetheless, enchantingly familiar.

Spock had not realized they were alone. But they were. The other beach-goers had left.

The air was cold enough that he could see his breath, hot and misty. He shivered. Clouds curled into the sky and the world seemed to give a great sigh. It began to snow.

It snowed gentle and sporadic. A flake here or there. Unique properties. Most melted before they reached the ground. One floated, lazy and unhurried, and lighted upon Leonard’s dark eyelash, stark white. Spock’s fingers itched to brush it away. To touch the little drop of water that formed on his cheek as Leonard blinked.

He watched Leonard pull out two thermoses. One of tea. One of cocoa. He handed the tea to Spock but Spock reached past him and poured a mug of chocolate. Rich. Smooth. He shivered in the night, feeling warmth spread from his flushed ears down to his fingertips and toes. Leonard set the basket to one side and pressed near to him, wrapping the corner of the blanket around their bodies.

Leonard sat back. Watched the sky. Breathed.

Said, “Isn’t it lovely, Spock?”

Spock, half-drunk on sugar and Leonard, turned to lean over him. The sight of Leonard filled his vision. Small smile. Hooded eyes. Contentment wrapped in joy. We are alone, he reminds himself. Spock leaned down. Kissed him.

Said, “You are.”

Spock realizes he is crying and he opens his eyes. He wipes the drop from his cheek. His body is stiff, old knees aching from the too-thin meditation mat. He does not move–cannot move just yet. Not when the pain still grips him. He looks down at his craggy, bent hands and remembers running them through Leonard’s soft hair. He closes his eyes to block the memory, but it is replaced. Now he imagines reaching out, two fingers extending out into the infinity that is–was–Leonard. A kiss.

He stands abruptly and stumbles, snuffing out the incense as he goes. He has had enough remembering for one day.


End file.
